Life in Nature, Nature in Life: On Murasaki Shikibu's "The Tale of Genji"

Though unaccustomed to a peculiar literary style — marked by omission of character names, usage of highly patrician language, and depiction of archaic Japanese cultural traditions — the enduring quality which, I believe, fostered my deep appreciation of Murasaki Shikibu’s The Tale of Genji lies in the unveiling of poetry as an embodiment of aesthetic sensibilities achieved in particular by the Japanese aristocracy. 

In the novel, poems – either created presumably by the author or quoted from older collections of poetry – are deeply embedded in the narrative; presenting an unparalleled literary style, highly developed for its age. Poetry, enjoyed particularly by the Japanese aristocratic class, is revealed to be the highest form of art in 11th century Japan. Because of this, an examination of the role of poetry – present in the lived realities of Genji and other characters belonging to the nobility – shows trace of the aesthetic consciousness of the Japanese and serves to demystify the fascinating aspects of Japanese culture. 

 Japanese poetry, known as waka, occupies a central position in the imperial court as a revered art form and highly favored activity of the nobility. In Genji’s cultural age, both the emperor and crown prince are known to be “connoisseurs of poetry”. The fifth chapter in particular, titled The Festival of the Cherry Blossoms, demonstrates how princes and high courtiers are adept at composing Chinese poems, thus highlighting the active cultural borrowings and influences of the mainland in Japanese language and literature. 

During this period, producing a Chinese poem is considered a difficult task but, for the author, it is described as “positive torture”, endured and enjoyed by a particularly narrow segment of Japanese society. Because of this, the classification of poetry as an aesthetic form in the Heian period, informs of art’s capacity to isolate the noble class from the rest of the society. With this, we are reminded to view Genji’s world as a narrow picture of the highly cultured life lived by Japan’s nobility, privileged for their literacy and exposure to traditional aesthetics. 

Nevertheless, the incorporation of poetry in the novel reveals more than a division of class; for indeed, in examining the substance of these poems, the interrelation of human emotion and nature is harmoniously depicted in the literary form. In other words, the poems contained in the novel convey the relationship between our feelings and the natural world. For instance: the waves moaning our longings, the winds becoming messengers of our sorrow, the river of tears revealing our grief, the dews miming our tears. 

These references to nature – present in one of their aesthetic concepts such as mono no aware or “sensitivity to things” – reflect the sensibilities of the Japanese in perceiving the natural world as part of the inner self. Nature, for the Japanese, exists in harmony with our thoughts and feeling. Poetry then, becomes an avenue where the natural world and the human life, express its unity and interrelatedness. Genji and other characters in the novel internalize, through poetry, the realities of the natural world and their inner world, consciously mindful of the transitory and evanescent qualities of life in general.  

Another function of poetry, which perhaps contributes to its appeal among the aristocracy, is its capacity to conceal human emotions through highly eloquent and suggestive language. Japanese poetry is carefully tailored to not only express emotions about beauty and life, but also to allow intimate communication between a man and a woman. 

It is through poetry, for instance, that Genji is able to convey his emotions towards his numerous lovers. Poetry is his weapon to initiate amorous affairs. Because of its highly suggestive nature, poems also become an allusion to the worldly desires experienced by Genji, and by his lovers. To demonstrate this, allow me to present a poetic exchange, particularly between Genji and Naishi – an aged but lewd aristocratic woman. 

Their conversation starts with the old Naishi’s aggressive speech, which goes: 

“Sere and withered though these grasses be,
they are ready for your pony, should you come”; 

— to which Genji, known for his carnal nature, liberally replies:

 “Were mine to part the low bamboo of your grove,
 It would fear to be driven away by other ponies”. 

Indeed, the exchange above, classic in its veiling the natural world and our worldly desires, is a testament to the poet’s might in depicting the impermanence of life and the immortality of art. 

Being, Condition, and Time: On Ha Jin’s Waiting

Waiting relates to time — that is, in its progressive form, waiting encompasses all dimensions of time: the past as an inactive period spent in expectation, the present in its actual waiting condition, and the future in its seeking of the probable occurrence of the wait. Given this, a person in waiting is presumed to remain still – in its waiting state – while time flows and the surrounding condition changes. In other words, in waiting, there is an act of internal changelessness in the midst of external changes. 

This act, however, is separate from the inner reality, which is necessarily transformed through time, except for the essence of our being which, by nature, consists of the capacity for loving. To put it differently, there is, on one hand, an unchanging nature of our being – which, I contend, is our dormant capacity to love – while on the other, an inner reality – of feelings and consciousness, for instance – which permits changes with time and external surrounding. 

So simply put: within a person, there is a simultaneous existence of a natural being where love, as a dormant capacity, resides – and there is an inner reality which allows for alteration of feelings and consciousness based on time and external surrounding.  

Love is defined, in this manner, as an absolute capacity to perform the act of loving; yet this capacity is said to be dormant, precisely since it needs to be awakened or nurtured by one’s natural being. A person cannot not love – provided that the being is reared and roused for it; but one can misrecognize being loved as love. Being loved exists in the inner reality, which allows for an alteration of feelings, but it does not penetrate inside one’s being which concerns itself only of loving. Being loved is merely a surplus feeling when the loving is realized and happened to be reciprocated. 

Now, if love is a dormant capacity of the being, then performing it will be its form of expression. With this contention, the subscription to conceive love as an art here is apparent; for indeed, art is universal yet diverse in its expression among cultures and individuals. Again, if love – which is a dormant resident of our being – is likened to art, then not everyone is capable of creating and performing it. Moreover, if love is an art, then its expression is entirely dependent whether or not the external surrounding permits its expression. Lastly, if love is equated to art, then it has to remain undeterred by time.

Now, these two-tedious-paragraphs worth of ruminations about love is, to me, a necessary buildup to forward my thoughts about Ha Jin’s work; particularly since, it is from this novel where my ever-changing exploration of love is challenged and remolded. The pertinent question is asked: if the trinity of characters in the book – Lin Kong, Shuyu, and Manna – are in the state of waiting, then is it given that they are all in love?

The immediate answer is no — that is, if love is conceived in the Western ideology of romantic love. In Western society, where the liberal ideology emphasizes freedom, love becomes a personal and private choice which an individual makes. People in the West, in essence, marry for love and only for love; it is unthinkable to marry for something else. In other words, love in the Western sense comes with the idea of freedom – as a liberal ideology – and it is through marriage that this love is institutionalized. 

However, in contrast to Chinese society, where the communal surrounding constraints freedom for collective welfare, love is understood as an act of conformation and obligation to familial and social institutions. Marriage, in Chinese society, is a communal or an institutional choice characterized by bonds and alliances for societal welfare. In both Western and Chinese societies, it is worth noting that love is neither lost nor absent, but is dependent merely on the degree of freedom which the external surrounding allows it to be exercised and expressed. 

Here, we go back to transform our earlier question: if the main characters in the book are all waiting, are they exercising love in the Chinese sense? To answer this requires that the characters are explored and their experiences be subjected to my earlier ramifications about love and being. If love – characterized solely by loving – is a dormant capacity residing within the being, then it requires that a developed character is suited to perform it. While good-natured and intelligent, Lin Kong is also an indecisive, dispassionate, and passive character. Getting in touch with his nature – with his capacity to love – requires not only a buildup of character, but a decisiveness of self, of developing the natural being. 

Both his marriage to Shuyu and his requests to divorce her for Manna represent his adherence to external conditions of his culture and the state. Now, the decisiveness of self – notably missing in Lin Kong – is found in the character of Shuyu, who represents precisely how love is being accommodated within the particularity of Chinese society. Shuyu is able to develop the natural being which concerns itself only with loving. On the other hand, Manna – being the modern and educated representation of urban Chinese female – accomplishes the idea of love only within her inner reality which, as noted previously, is subjected to external conditions and time. Note that the changes in Manna’s character are exhibited from her initial affinity with Lin Kong, then shifts to the necessity for marriage because of societal expectations. 

Hence, it is not surprising why Lin Kong and Manna’s conception of love permeating only within their respective inner realities, and not within their being, failed. True enough; among the three characters who were all in the state of waiting, it is only Shuyu, who stood by her inner being – solely to perform loving – and hence, is able to accommodate the particularity of love in Chinese culture. Indeed, within Shuyu’s inner reality and being, time flows to embody the changelessness amidst the changes surrounding her in her waiting. 

(Note: In formulating this new conception of LOVE, I used three works to substantiate my ruminations. I did it because I could not accept that during the Cultural Revolution -- when the ideology was radicalized and stretched beyond its limit -- Ha Jin seemed to portray that there was no love existing in such society. And so, I used his novel as the grounding context of my formulation and used 2 books: Erich Fromm's "The Art of Loving" and Schiller's "On the Aesthetic Education of Man" to prove that love in China did exist even those times.)

Celebrating the Death of my Existentialist Self

Tonight, I am high. I am floating. I am free. I can fly. It's surreal to have these feelings exist at once; all because I have freed myself from a particular Western philosophy that has guided my view of existence for a very long time. This philosophical belief is called EXISTENTIALISM.

My love affair with existentialist thought started when I suffered from depressive anxiety seven years ago. Alone and romantically depressed, I sought books which I thought would help me understand the emptiness of my condition. The "booksale" at a mall became my refuge as I scouted for Western authors whose names I'd just find from the usual content of an English literature book. The mentality was "ok, they said this is good, so I'll read it" or "ok this author's name sounds familiar, he must be good".

An Affair with Sartre

One of these books I picked from the books sale was an old copy of Jean Paul-Sartre's No Exit (Hois Clos). I didn't know how to read a play then (AND I STILL DON'T KNOW HOW UNTIL NOW!). But because one of my college professors said that Sartre is an important thinker, then I thought he must be interesting. At the back of my mind, I thought I should just keep reading his works and perhaps I'd find something significant. 

And so for days, I labored in imagining the narratives of two characters trapped in a room which was actually after-life version hell. Now these two characters knew and hated each other while they were alive; but then they're put together in an enclosed space which represents hell precisely because for Sartre, HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE. The impact of that play is that I was able to imagine a world without the Christian conception of heaven and hell. For me, it was about LIFE BEING "HERE AND NOW"; there is no afterlife, so all we must do is make the most out of life here and now.

Existentialism in a Nutshell

After reading Sartre's No Exit, I read up more on existentialism. In other words, my view of existentialism expanded because of my interest in the idea that the philosophy emphasizes the loneliness of existence. It appealed to me because it nullifies the existence of afterlife and supports my atheistic mindset that there is no outside force; there is only human who exercises his full potential in a given lifetime. Moreover, the basic tenent of existentialism tells us that EXISTENCE PRECEDES ESSENCE; this means that we "exist" first -- tabula rasa -- and then our essence (depending on how we live our life) will come later as we carve our individual selves and meaning. 

Now this idea is very appealing because it contradicts practically the very catholic concept of ESSENCE PRECEDES EXISTENCE; meaning this God(s) already gave us an essence (e.g. we are born unique and special in his eyes etc) before we even existed! This Christian concept sounded really ridiculous for my atheistic self and hence I found existentialism the best philosophy to counter this  backward and defeatist thought of Christianity. In a way, for me, existentialism suits my need as a depressed and lonely individual at the time. 

Atheism and Existentialism

An atheist who could not grasp the existence of a supernatural being must naturally turn to philosphy to answer his basic questions in life. This is what I love about atheism. I gives me freedom to explore philosophy and not merely subscribe on the given "essence" prescribed by religion. And so, existentialism undeniably fits my needs to cling on a philosophy which negates religious conception of God and afterlife as well as celebrates the freedom of an individual by reflecting deeply into the self and create meaning within it. 

I am an atheist because I am free. I am an atheist because I revere philosophy and because I treat idea as an ever-changing evolution and exercise of the mind as one looks deeply into the self over time. The best thing about being an atheist is that you are challenged to look deeply for that ESSENCE or MEANING within you -- just you alone.. without confessions, without spirits, without mediator priests, without a God. Merging that atheistic idea with existentialism meshes well in providing VALUE to one's self -- particularly as an individual, brave enough to face the solitariness of existence without God(s). 

An Affair with Comparative Literature

Now, let's fast forward: 2011. I started my MA in Comparative Literature in UP. I had a crisis, I must admit, when I first entered into the program; I asked myself: am I really fit to be in this course? Do I belong here? However, a year has passed and, having fairly good remarks from my profs, it convinced that I must be studying the right field. What I love about Comparative Literature (CL) is that it allows me to merge my "first-loves" in life: philosophy and literature. 

Sometimes, I'd end up feeling "so high" after my classes because I have learned a lot from my professors. I have read numerous books (sometimes I read 3 books in a week). Now of course it has also affected my health because I get obsessive in my quest for knowledge. But the greatest aspect about the program is that it allows me to celebrate my identity, first and foremost, as a Filipino and secondly, my being Southeast Asian. It expanded my world and knowledge which started from a very Western-oriented individual to embracing my Asian philosophical and literary roots. 

Asian Literature

I come from the "exoticized" Mindanao; so why choose Asian Literature as a major? The answer is I want to expand my niche and learn more about our neighbors. In CL, as much as possible, there is a need to be critical about the Western philosophies we have learned over time. I myself is a product of this very western thought. It is very painful to empty myself of it but it is necessary to understand my  true self, to understand where I come from. Through my numerous readings in CL, I must say that I am postcolonially trained; meaning I have been taught to DECONSTRUCT or participate in what Spivak calls "EPISTEMIC UPHEAVAL" in order to understand literary texts and (Western) philosophies. 

I have studied bits of Western philosophy; now is the time to explore an Asian counterpart or even perhaps VARIANTS of these philosophies. Right now, I am very fascinated about the idea of a hybridized knowledge, the conception of the third space,  and the insterteces of ideas. With the rapid globalization, I am interested in how knowledges are merged and reflected into a particular literary tradition or, just perhaps a basic piece of literature. It was the theorist HOMI BHABHA who said (this is not the exact phrase) : ONCE SITUATED, NO KNOWLEDGE IS EVER ABSOLUTE. This means that, once a thought is decontextualized from its origin (usually from its Western beginnings) and diffused to another setting (for instance, the colonized Philippines) then this concept/idea is transformed to particularly fit to realities of the Filipino setting. I think these metamorphoses of knowledge are very interesting to look at!

Back to Existentialism!

As I have claimed in this blog, I have officially freed myself from an existentialist view of the world. Because of Asian literature, I am able now to slowly distance myself from Western philosophy and beginning to explore Eastern/Asian thoughts. Now that I am beginning to familiarize and analyze with Asian texts, I am compelled to review my deeply rooted belief in Western philosophy and one of which is to examine my established notion of exitentialism. Last week , I read an early modern novel from China entitled Camel Xiangzi by a social realist writer, Lao She. Portrayed in the text is the fate of a rickshaw driver who, no matter what he does in life, is marred by misfortunes of poverty and the realities of his socioeconomic background.

Lao She, in this novel, wanted to examine the individualistic and existentialist self that has entered modern China in the early 20th century. Xiangzi is a rickshaw puller who believes that he has control over his life and that by just doing all good things, then he can achieve what he wants in his lifetime. This appeals to be an existentialist thought because it advocates that the character believes that with his individual toil and honesty/goodness (innate) in his behavior, he will be able to derive and achieve a meaningful life -- a life he  perceives to be within his control.

Death of Existentialism in Asian Context

However, it seems that Lao She wanted to negate existentialist concept with the fate of the character in the novel. Though this is not much highlighted in the book, it seems that individualism is discouraged simply because oppressed people need each other to rise up against the abuses of capitalist industries. EXISTENTIALISM therefore cannot exist when a country, like the Philippines for instance, do not present the right condition or environment for the possiblity of the philosophy's existence. In other words, PEOPLE MUST BE FREE FIRST FROM THEIR SOCIOECONOMIC CHAINS THAT IMPRISONS THEM AND THE COLONIAL OUTLOOK WHICH HINDERS THEIR WAYS OF THINKING BEFORE EXISTENTIALISM CAN POSSIBLY BE EVEN THOUGHT OF!

Existentialism was possible in Europe because the EXISTING ENVIRONMENT permits it to be PRACTICED within that specific context, where people are able to realize and freely exercise their potentials; for instance, they are well-off to explore what they want to do in life or they are FREE from colonial exploits unlike postcolonial nations who are in trouble with their shattered cultural identities. Existentialism is NOT APPLICABLE in a poverty stricken Philippines where, no matter how the poor WANTS TO CREATE MEANING IN LIFE AND ESSENCE -- THEY CANNOT; particularly because socioeconomic circumstances hinders them from exercising a deeper look into the self. EXISTENTIALISM, which is also very individualist, forgets that there are those (esp. coming poor peripheral contries) whose EXISTENCE are not even RECOGNIZED precisely because they belong to one of the lowest strata in society (e.g. subaltern minorities).

Finally, because today's awakening enables me to contextualize a particularly European philosophy, now I am back from the start in searching another view of existence. I am happy because I have freed myself from a particular dogma or philosophical chain. It is liberating, really. The challenge now for me is to again, participate in the quest for meaning (not propelled of course by religious dogma) and to find out truth about life and the self. Back to zero, as they say. But whatever, I do not refuse learning! So for now, I am taking a break -- celebrating and writing with drunken happiness about the death of my existentialist self. 

(P.S. Right now, I am really interested still in looking at how existentialism is being accomodated, perceived,and reflected in Asian literary texts. Now that Western philosophy is practically dispersed around the world, then it is just right to look at the metamorphoses of these philosophies as they are particularized in Asian texts and context; my interest in particular is SE Asian lit, of course. Exciting dba!). 

Back to Poetry (#5 - UP Diliman Series)

(Poem for Arne's birthday)

Øjne

With light, the darkest blue

not of sea or sky, but of earth

viewed from space, conscious

of its life.

In darkness, the deepest green

not of leaves or moss, but of jade

bought from trade, precious

on the palm.

Light or dark, the pale world

of your face is hued for life:

of earth and jade, they say
light plays with color, but only I

of course, can speak of hues

altering brightness; of colors

changing nights to life 

for life, all
for life.

til Arne 07/08/13

Back to Poetry (#3 - UP Diliman Series)

Musings of a Lone Dew on a Sunny Day

I am a tear to this grass
which cups me kindly,

to fit the curve of its leaf
and delay my joining
the sun.

I am shriveling warm, but I glisten
ever more intensely:

swaying dragonflies

as I join the wind,

hovering its glimmer
above my green,

viewing flickers of grain
from its sandy loam home

gripping what is left of me --

so all that we become

are city lights of day.

4/11/2012, Fodboldbane

Back to Poetry (#2 UP Diliman Series)

Shelving the Self

The usual space
that owns my weight
is weightless.
I left the seat
   
Empty —

for today’s play
is to have you

Miss me.

 5/10/2012, Bibliotek

Back to Poetry (#1 - UP Diliman Series)

Strange, Stranger Gazes

In the library 
where books become walls

to people

whose looks resemble

their thoughts:

of finishing homework

and killing time,

of learning ahead

and spacing out.

In this place,

where silence and noise

become idle sounds,

my eyes are lost

among pages and spaces

you move around:

between the shelves,

behind the counter,

beside me.

But these walls keep

its rule of silence

my eyes have to defy.

I learn to speak

your language of gazes:

those tug of wars,

those hits and misses,

those stolen glances

that mock the silence

of this place.

In the library

where walls avenge

the foes of silence,

our gazes are muted

like words of pages 

housed in this place.

We do not belong here –

and words are blind

to the language of our eyes.

 09/10/2012, Sovesal

On Thinking about Thoughts

Language is dangerous. I say this because I am at awe with the realization about how language is used as a misleading tool for us to make sense of the world. There is no truth to the idea that language is what makes humans breathe with "understanding".

Pardon, what I am writing now is a product of raw thoughts converted into language so you can never expect consistency in what I say. See, this is what I want to demonstrate: right now, what I am doing is to make sense of an idea on how the use of language in reading, speaking, and writing is actually a dangerous task. I am doing this by ironically using language as a tool to clarify my idea. Even that, I still argue that this is a dangerous task.

For sure, philosophers might have thought about this idea that I am going to explore now. Well, of course they have, I recognize that. But I have to clarify that what I am about to write here stems from raw thinking; meaning I am thinking while I am typing and see if it makes sense. This thought-to-language-idea stems from me studying my own thoughts and how I make sense of them. It takes me back from what happened last week -- how my doctor cautioned me not to think too much otherwise my brain will send wrong signals to my body. Then I began to think more, thinking: how can I stop thinking? or more importantly, why I am always thinking excessively?

Instances of Thinking

The answer is that I find the truth in thinking -- in the raw forms of thought. I am in love with raw thoughts -- that's why I think a lot. I am in love with thought -- the truth, in its purest form. For instance, I love walking for hours in the morning because in that activity, I am able to foster my love for thoughts. I'll give a more concrete examples, when I walk, I look at nature.. I stop by and think whatever catches my eye. Two months ago, while jogging, I stopped by a small plant because the sun reflected the a shiny thread on it. It turned out that an orange spider was making its home. Until now, I am in love with that moment but until now, I cannot express it in words. This is a lame description of what I saw, of what I realized that day.

Another instance, I was passing by so many trees on the way to our dorm and I realized how nobody really touches these trees when they are living. We fail to realize that they, like us, are breathing too! They also have life but they can't talk, they are solitary, but they have life! I felt that it is so lonely to be a tree and just have a stationary life! But then again, the burden is on us, the people who can move because we have to wander, go somewhere, and find our home! I have already voiced this thought in poetry already when I wrote "Palm Trees" in 2011, but then I felt that the idea about trees and their existence with us is poorly articulated! Having so much time walking around UP and being able to pass by these solitary and stationary trees made me realize that, as a form of apology for grossly articulating my homage to them, I began patting them as I walk. Trees need warmth, I thought, so I slightly jump tap their leaves or lightly touch their branch.

Yes, I thought about those things -- those seemingly mundane occurrences in nature.  But I do not only think about trees and nature, I also think about dirt and trashes I see on the road while I walk. One time, I saw a trail of trash -- broken alcohol bottle, dog shit, biscuit wrapper, dead leaves -- and I wonder if there is a story behind them being there. I thought there must be a story behind these things why they are being dropped there. I thought -- the broken alcohol, the one who held it, surely something happened to him why he dropped it at that place. The dog, when it shat, it was mindless about the act but I wondered about what this lonely street dog ate! (Gross but it's lonely to think about: at night, where does it sleep? does the stray dog wake up and hopeful about the day ahead? About the biscuit wrapper, did a kid throw it and still felt hungry after?

Lastly, the dead leaves, even if lifeless, I thought of its fate -- its fate is to rot, even though the very act of its falling from the twig is, what is known us, freedom. As usual, I have written about dead leaves in an unfinished poem which remained unfinished because I could not fully articulate my thoughts -- the entire idea of what I am going to say -- in words. I talked about dead leaves "creeping for the color of the soil" -- leaves being in the state of decomposition and trying to blend with the soil's color and dying with it and becoming part of it.

Solitary, Dangerous Thoughts

Because of excessive thinking, people (like me) are already physically affected by mere thoughts. By that, I mean that thoughts breed loneliness because of the very reason of its existence. Thoughts are nebulous abstraction of how make sense of the world around us, of our existence, of our being here. The very nature of its existence cannot be "concretized" because they are raw and pure. They are solitary and not "graspable" by anyone or anything. I think about the sad lonely state of our ideas being "in the head" perhaps because I am an Atheist searching for the meaning of existence. I believe that people stick to the idea of having a "creator" lurking around the corner because the thought of someone being there for us is very comforting.

For many people, the thought that humans breathe upon their very thoughts that are solitary, unexplainable, and "unshareable" with other people is almost unimaginable. Being alone with thoughts can potentially kill, can destroy our very existence. It is more comforting for the religious to think that someone is there listening and knowing our thoughts. Comfort then becomes a refuge for many people -- it feeds their spirit. But I am not like many people. I am queer in my love for thoughts which others despise -- that's why they look for other people and share their views on things so the thought or idea won't be alone.

I am an atheist who has somehow resigned to the existentialist view on things: there is no meaning in our existence and it is us who create that meaning in our lifetime. Life is here and now. This is heaven and hell. When we die, we die like the leaves "creeping for the color of the soil". But why are human beings burdened by having thoughts? Why we? I still could not grasp that purpose. If I look at it in a rational manner, it is because through time, the human brain has acquired the mental capacity to fully grasp the things around us. That is why we have reached this level of civilization because humans fought with the loneliness of thoughts and, through time, created our preoccupation (and distraction) -- the technology. I could go and on with that discussion, but what if I will answer that purely from a philosophical perspective? Why are we given these lonely thoughts? If we look at it, these are the ones that somehow humanizes us because in it, we feel genuine sadness as well as love for mundane things that exist around us.

Dangers of Language

But is it useful to contemplate deeply, excessively, and fall in love with our raw thoughts? From my experience, no.. thinking does not do anything good for my physical health. But, in a way, I still marvel at the idea how pure our thoughts are and how language can subject it to danger. I am talking about the conversion of our thoughts. Thought brings about loneliness that we all avoid, either because we despise loneliness and our culture dictates that we aim for the "pursuit of happiness" OR being alone with mere thoughts naturally poses danger to our existence, to our physical health.

Because of the tendency for people to avoid being alone with thoughts, the natural mechanism is to convert it into language -- so that the thought will be free and it can interact with other ideas that will be useful to the existence of humanity. Language is an indispensable tool that made our existence, the human civilization, possible. I recognize that. I also recognize that using language is the only activity we can do to concretize our thoughts.. to give meaning to it.. to voice it out.. to let it free.

But then language itself is an obstacle and the word I will use to describe it is "dangerous" because of its very nature to be dynamic, to be fluid, to change. Earlier, I have established how thoughts in itself already present danger and uncomfortable feeling to those who possess them and love them (i.e. thinkers and writers suffer from mental illness precisely because they are alone with their thinking). I will argue that also the act of "freeing" thoughts through language is equally dangerous because it misleads our thinking, our decisions, then our actions, and our lives in general.

 1.) The act of converting thought to language

The first process that people naturally do to free their thoughts is to convert it into language. However, language is a limited tool because it cannot fully articulate an experience. We use language to voice out our thoughts through speaking. We also write to objectify thoughts through letters and words. Speaking poses more danger than writing because it is spontaneous. The conversion of thoughts to language is thought to be simultaneously existing with our thoughts. Conversion in speaking happens in a flash. Writing, on the other hand, takes time to complete.

I see the danger in speaking because contemplation is lacking. Remember, thoughts are already dangerous and when your thoughts become unexamined, they lose their true meaning. It is sad how society has somehow privileged the act of speaking than writing. In our daily lives, those people who interact well and who are "in control" of their thoughts and language appears to be the confident one, whereas the people who have a hard time gathering their thoughts are considered less. I am one of the people who is having a hard time with her thoughts while speaking. I feel like I am always in danger when I speak because I feel the need to ascertain my conversion of thoughts into language. I never noticed that, until in college, my good friends pointed how there are times that I am blabbering the things that I want to say. My mind is disoriented and I am too cautious with my conversion of thoughts into language.

On the other hand, we can look at writing as one of the activities that is closest to thought. But still danger lurks in writing because language, through letters, tries to make the thought "visible" or "graspable". The danger for the conversion of thought to writing lies in the fact that once thought is converted into language, it is now being objectified and becomes the subject of articulation. This is dangerous because the conversion itself is not what is really meant -- it is not the raw thought and we do not have the capacity for the conversion (earlier, I have established that how the thought is solitary and "unshareable" -- that is my basis for saying this sentence).

I have to say though that the closest way that language can articulate experience is through poetry. Poetry aims to create an experience out of words. That experience is capable of replicating raw thoughts that will imitate the original experience of the writer. But then the original thought lies on the writer, what we feel after reading a great poem is a poor replica of an experience. Some might argue that at least an experience is still created BUT it is very rare among us to be moved by an experience. The impact of a poem varies from person to person, depending on the level of concentration, level of understanding, the context, and the experiences that one has. The effect of a moving results to raw thoughts, that when we try to articulate more, we will doubly fail in misery.

2.) The act of concretizing language  

Because conversion is insufficient and unreliable, it can be said that speaking or writing the thoughts through language is misleading and unreal. For instance, most of us do not know what we do in life simply because language is incapable of making sense about what our thoughts wanted say. If what we try to say and write are unreal, the danger lies when these unreal "thoughts" are concretized into language. Concretization means that the thought is "released" through language by hearing the "thoughts", recording the "thoughts" and writing the "thoughts".

Once the illusion is created that the "thought" is free, people around us will now have the basis, on written or verbal record, about our supposed "idea". The assumption that what is written or heard is real can be dangerous because thoughts are subjected to influence. People around a person will take note of the "freed thought" on the assumption that it is the clear and right idea of a person. With this concretization lies the danger of influence because people will play with the idea through discourse and communication. Hence, the "fallacious" thought is being reinforced, played, and upheld!

3.) The role of influence and manipulation

Since thoughts are, by nature, unarticulated and unshareable, there is danger for it to be inconsistent through the process of converting it into language. Now, people around you who are misled that what you are speaking or writing are real can be the same people who can make you feel at loss. This is because they are misled by the conversion of language and we too are misled by other people's conversion of language. That is why misunderstanding is very prevalent in the society because our thoughts can never be fully realized or converted into language.

The danger of being miserably misled to take the wrong path lies in our articulation of thoughts. Once you articulate what you want, it does not always the thing that you really wanted... but then you concretize it and people assume that that is such. Then, they will try to feed your "thoughts" (the inconsistent once) with their own (which is also inconsistent!)

Love is in Thought

In my previous blog, I have articulated my thoughts on love and nature -- that love is imitative of nature in the sense that its existence is effortless. But now I realize that love resides in pure thought -- the raw ones, the real feeling -- that is free from language!

I guess I have to end my speculation about thoughts by quoting my previous essay about love -- simply because further discussion about thoughts and love require more intense love for thoughts, which I consider to be dangerous.

"I long to witness that moment when one actually reaches for the same wavelength -- without saying anything because words, in itself, do not have pure intentions, in the same way that raw thoughts and inner feelings have. The moment you convert feelings into words, it loses its natural form -- that is why we have poets who, with all their might, try to capture emotions in its purest form through poetry, but still couldn't quite make sense of an experience. 

This process makes writing more powerful than speaking because of internal communication and because of the time spent thinking about words closest to the thought. Composing words, as they are, is an attempt to physically manifest thoughts, but it is not the actual and pure thought you held deeply. Meanings are concealed in words and it is only through sensitivity that we can unlock its true intention and significance."

Seneca: On Love and Nature

(An excerpt of my rapid impulse to write spontaneously this morning, the complete and more polished work will be sent to the person whom I address this piece for.)

 On Love and Nature

No, I'm not feeling fine, I still carry the heavy pains of disappointment and fear. You know how I hate talking about feelings, primarily because I consider containing emotions, in the form of words and explication, as a futile exercise of the heart. 

But for now, out of necessity, I guess I have to elaborate what I feel (which is not my usual practice) -- because, as you claim, we do not read each other's thoughts and do not step on each other's shoes, hence we need to voice out all that we think. 

The Cycle of Flaws (and things better left unsaid)

So what happens when you found the slightest strength to raise your concern towards a disappointing behavior and yet the other person is as forceful as you are to continue denying the existence of his flaws? What do you do? At first you insist, then he argues, and you just let things pass. You sleep with disappointment for a long time and wait until the day comes when the entire situation again recurs. As a result, your annoyance resurfaces, and your disappointment increases as you contemplate that you should have distanced and even shielded yourself, even before, from someone's intentional or unintentional lapses.

I do not kid you when I said that there are things ought not to be explained -- especially by chatty reasoning and argumentations because, at the end of the day, nobody wins and we go back to our solitary selves pushing for our "rightness" on things. Sorry, but I will ask you that I may be allowed to be a bit philosophical in my explanation. I know I always fail at making my thoughts comprehensible, but I would appreciate if you will spend time on re-reading and reflecting on things I seldom talk to you about. 

You see, many people fail at understanding because they do not use their inner sensitivity to gauge the concealed meaning in words. Sometimes, they also do not enjoy walking in the shoes of the writer and thus lose interest to think harder, beyond words, for the sake of clarity and understanding. So here goes my attempt to be talkative.

Connection Beyond Words (and the metaphor of "soul")

I believe that people, if they are meant to form any kind of relationship, must share "connection" that is devoid of words and physical gestures. That shared connectedness must emanate from the fact that, by nature, they are destined to share each other's being. That is true for people you consider as friends, lovers, and others you held deeply within. Most of all, it is true for the person you are considering to be your "life partner". 

In our lifetime, I believe that it is merely by luck that we find these people who "share our soul" so to speak. I used the word "soul" as a metaphor because the understanding between two people transcends beyond our own humanity. Some years back, I remembered how I wrote about fate and love as something that "which, if at all, we rarely find in our lifetime". In that sense, I am lucky to find, for now, that one instance where I met a fateful "soul" who crossed inside and wholly understood my being.    

That fortunate "sharing of the soul" I only once experienced with a long time friend. Things might have been very different right now, but what makes me cling to the friendship is that until now, whenever I look back at my past, I never fail to say, "those were the best years of my life". Those were great times because even without words, someone could finish my thoughts and share my sorrow. Talking was not a requirement to know that the other person feels awfully ill inside and that it only requires the meeting of eyes before we burst into laughter. I have to truthfully say that, I have yet to feel an experience that would surpass the feeling of ultimate familiarity with other people's inner being. In those days, sharing of the soul was not about the exchange of words but of sharing experiences, pain, and incomprehensible laughter.   

Attaining the Ideal (and us)

I do not know if it's right to say that I also expect that level of "soul sharing" to also be present between us and demand that it becomes more profound in an intimate, loving relationships like ours. Thing is, I do not think we have quite achieved that higher level of connectedness. I always look for that when we're together, but it seems futile to hope that one day, you will be able to completely understand my inner being without so much words to waste. There are too many distractions we need to address day by day -- whether we're together or far away. 

But in all fairness to us too, I do not think we have spent much more time completely alone together and share ourselves wholly. Yet if we finally do, could I expect to achieve this meeting of the soul, this higher level of understanding between us? And what if we can't attain the ideal? What do I do? Runaway, just like I always do, from people who do not share my understanding of things? Or should I wait for the grace of time and expend my energy, to discover the art of learning more about someone in the metaphysical sense?

On All things Effortless (and the concept of "wavelength")

We can laugh about this, but my insistence on the unnatural idea of "effort" kicks into this conversation. My view that -- "things that are deemed to be natural should require the least amount of effort (or better yet, effortless)" -- is ultimately reflected at how we look at nature. In the natural course of things, a leaf falls into the ground not only because of the frailty of the twig that holds it, but also because it completely surrenders to gravity, nature, or love. One need not exert effort in shaking its branches to let it fall. It is part of the natural scheme of things that a leaf shall fall because it has to let go of itself, naturally. 

Now, translating this natural occurrence into human relationship is comparable to two human beings who have the "same wavelength", so to speak. Indeed, the term wavelength is a natural idea in physics, being "the distance between two points in the same phase in consecutive cycles of a wave". We can compare the idea of wavelength to human relationships where it is possible that two people, who may be separated by distance, to have mutual understanding about each other's being. Still, in all fairness to both of us, our similarities on how we perceive a good and proper life is mutually shared. But I daresay, that is not entire picture of a relationship. 

Sharing the same "wavelength of the soul" requires better understanding of each other -- without constant reprimand, without constant reminder, and without endless talks on how to actually feel the emotions of another person. In fact, this is reflective sometimes, on my annoyance whenever people say "I'm sorry to hear about what happened" towards another person. I feel that the phrase could mean separating yourself from what the other person feels and, in a way, you subconsciously feel better about your own situation. Instead of saying how sorry you are about one's condition, wouldn't it be more reassuring if you just sit by silently beside the person, without a single word spoken, and share his misery? I think this is the opposite essence of the mantra, "misery loves company" -- in that way at least, you are able to place yourself on how the other person actually feels. 

Losing Meaning in Words

How I long for people to just feel each other's presence! I long to witness that moment when one actually reaches for the same wavelength -- without saying anything because words, in itself, do not have pure intentions, in the same way that raw thoughts and inner feelings have. The moment you convert feelings into words, it loses its natural form -- that is why we have poets who, with all their might, try to capture emotions in its purest form through poetry, but still couldn't quite make sense of an experience. This process makes writing more powerful than speaking because of internal communication and because of the time spent thinking about words closest to the thought. Composing words, as they are, is an attempt to physically manifest thoughts, but it is not the actual and pure thought you held deeply. Meanings are concealed in words and it is only through sensitivity that we can unlock its true intention and significance.

Now, going back to the nature of "wavelengths", it may seem that I am only painting an ideal picture of what relationships should be. But why should I not when lifetime companionship is what is at stake here. You see, I only want to experience being with someone who holds a complete understanding of myself, in the same way as I hold a complete understanding about who he is. This understanding, I demand, should be devoid of words and lengthy explanation and thus require utmost sensitivity of feelings towards one another. It does not take constant reprimand and reminder to fully understand what the other person is feeling. One can gain complete understanding through sensitive observation and careful examination of our differences and similarities, as it is already given that both of us have different cultural orientation and life experiences that molded us to who we are now.
(Some very personal paragraphs are deleted.)

Letting Myself Fall (like a leaf)

You know, there is greater wisdom for people who insist that they are right but just keep to themselves and wait for their rightness to manifest in the future... there's greater wisdom in that, than those who argue in high pitch sounds about their correctness. You should care about what other people think because it means you are sensitive and you care how they might feel. (I caution you to separate this from voicing opinions on politics and social issues. These ideas are solely about thinking before you blurt out your words in whatever forms -- be it may in the form of jokes, serious opinion, or burst of anger.)

All of these can be attained by inner reflection and sensitivity, which someday, I hope we will both attain and eventually share. I know you might insist on its impossibility but experience, as well as important insights on nature, tells me that it's possible. I only insist on the natural meeting of both our soul and being -- because I believe that it is ONLY when I feel us sharing and meeting at the same wavelength that I can completely let myself go, like a leaf surrendering to the a bigger force of nature or love. If not, then I expect you to, one day, go back to these meaningless rants -- and understand beyond words -- why, in the long run, I did not let myself fall. 

Adele's Music: "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead"

It's not everyday that I get moved by a musical performance. The great thing about music is that it transcends emotions to any kind of listener.

I'm so touched with this performance by Adele.. so moved by the song.. coz.. i don't know..i think..i thought to myself, gosh I must have sung same song if.. if I wasn't too careless tsk... That fact I guess moved me.. and I wept with her.

Today @ Breakfast.

Poetry for breakfast and I'm full already -- in mind, in heart, and in consciousness. I'm just gonna post some of my favorite  poems. I read them again this morning -- like food, I devoured words. 
I thought that, before I leave Tagum, I should ponder upon my quest in life. I have to feed my soul with thoughts and constantly be reminded what my journey is for.


The Road Not Taken

By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy & wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference

A Thing Of Beauty

by: John Keats

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Love One Another

by: Khalil Gibran 

Love one another, but make not a bond of love.

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup, but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread, but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone.

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together.

For the pillars of the temple stand apart.

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow

If 
by: e e Cummings

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,

And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie,

    Life would be delight,-

    But things couldn't go right    

    For in such a sad plight

I wouldn't be I.

If earth was heaven, and now was hence,

And past was present, and false was true,

    There might be some sense    

    But I'd be in suspense

    For on such a pretense

You wouldn't be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,

And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee

    Things would seem fair,-

    Yet they'd all despair,

    For if here was there
We wouldn't be we.